


Playing With Dolls

by Anonymous



Series: Roofie AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Roofies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24619807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Modern!AU: Ramsay roofies Theon at a bar.
Relationships: Damon Dance-for-me/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Skinner/Theon Greyjoy, Sour Alyn/Theon Greyjoy
Series: Roofie AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782676
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95
Collections: Anonymous





	Playing With Dolls

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Qouii, who drew some incredible gangbang Thramsay art, the beginnings of which you may find [here.](https://qouii.tumblr.com/post/619149386309681152/modern-au-thramsay-is-a-blast-for-imagination)
> 
> Usual disclaimer: Ramsay and his boys are terrible people. This is a work of fiction.

The darkening sky was overcast—one massive, low-hanging blanket of roiling gray clouds.

Of course, this was par for course in the North, but still. Theon hated it. 

He tugged the collar of his jacket higher up under his chin, hunching into the cold. At this hour, the streets were mostly empty save for a few shadows lingering in alleys and unlit corners. A distance from the outskirts of Winterfell, this wasn’t a very savory part of the North. That was fine. Tonight, Theon wasn’t looking for savory. 

On either side of the street, the buildings continued to progressively decay. Empty window frames dotted their walls like missing teeth. Foreclosed signs decorated yellow and weed-choked lawns; so many that Theon could have held out a hand and slapped one every other yard or so. The faint stink of rotting trash hung heavily in the air. 

But up ahead was the reason for enduring the unpleasant landscape. It was Friday night, and for The Smoking Log, that meant business.

The bar was the only establishment for miles around that still stood in remarkably good condition. Its windows were painted with a thin film of black, and a small brass sign of a smoldering campfire hung above the door. 

Inside, the bar had a small, cozy interior. Its ceiling was low, supported by thick pillars throughout the room. Circular tables took up most of the space, and in the adjoining room, strong yellow lights shone down on a ratty pool table that, half the time, didn’t even release the balls when you fed it a copper coin. A pack of young men lounged around it, finishing up a game. 

The bar was bustling already, warmed by body heat and laughter and cheeks flushed with alcohol. It would get even busier soon. Theon liked to arrive just before the crowds did.

By now, he was an expert at weaving in between the throng until he’d made his way to the counter. A tall glass of draft beer was already waiting for him when he threw himself down to the stool. The bartender knew his order by heart.

“Thanks Mac,” he said as he raised the glass to his lips.

The bartender leaned back against the counter and rolled his eyes. “That’s not my name, you little brat.”

Theon shrugged uncaringly and pulled out his phone. He told himself it wasn’t to check his texts, but the lack of notifications made his stomach twist.

“Your friend, he here tonight? The Stark boy?” the bartender asked. Someone settled on the stool next to Theon, but he didn’t look up—the bartender’s gruff question had sucked all the lightheartedness out of him.

“That prick?” he muttered into his glass, locking his phone and pushing it away from him. “Fuck him, who needs him?” 

The bartender _hmmed_ and slid a mug of dark ale across the counter to the newly arrived patron. 

“I don’t know who that was meant for,” said a voice to Theon’s left. “But I like the spirit.”

Theon twisted his upper body to look. He recognized the newcomer from the game of pool in the adjoining room instantly—he’d been the one jauntily holding his cue stick over his shoulders while watching his opponents.

“Cool,” Theon said, an obvious dismissal, and turned away. 

He heard the legs of the stool creak as the other man leaned in. “Aw, don’t be like that. You seemed nice from across the bar.”

That wrenched a smirk out of Theon’s lips before he could help himself. “Oh come on, I’ve used that line before too. Works best on _women_ , you know.”

The man laughed easily. Despite himself, Theon’s gaze slid over again. The stranger was obviously of northern stock; wavy, short black hair, a squarish-shaped jaw smattered with stubble. And strangely colorless eyes that popped against his darker coloring.

“I’m Ramsay,” the man said, smiling, and held out a hand.

Hand-shaking was a greenlander custom. In the Iron Islands, you didn’t shake hands. You simply clasped your fist against your chest when introducing yourself. When Theon first arrived on the mainland, it had taken Robb ages to persuade him to adopt the gesture.

But that was years and years ago, when they were small boys and Robb wasn’t such a serious dick all the time. So Theon clasped Ramsay’s hand and pumped it twice. Firm, but not so firm that he seemed overcompensatory. It was all about image.

“I’m Theon.”

Ramsay leaned back. “Nice to meet you, Theon.”

“You from around here?” Theon asked lamely, running a finger around the lip of his glass. Small-talk wasn’t his speciality. He found it difficult to keep it going without offending the other person at some point along the way. _People would like you more if you smiled less when making fun of them,_ Robb had told him once.

Ramsay shrugged and took a long pull from his mug. “Yeah, in the area. My boys and I like to come out here for drinks sometimes. They’re watered down, but at least they’re cheap.”

“I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

Ramsay smiled his funny little smile again, like Theon had just told an amusing joke. “You always leave this bar sober?”

“Point,” Theon acknowledged, and drained the last of his beer. He set the empty glass down and looked up just in time to catch Ramsay’s eyes lingering on the bit of foam on his upper lip. Self-consciously, he wiped it away with his sleeve. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ramsay said, turning back to his own drink. “Here, let me get you another.” He held out two fingers, then pointed at Theon. The Bartender-Not-Named-Mac turned his back to pour another pint, then came over to set it down in front of Theon.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Theon said, even as he accepted the drink.

Ramsay shrugged. “Can’t a guy just be nice sometimes?”

“Well, I hope you don’t think this will get you in the sack,” Theon told him. “I’m not really into guys.”

Ramsay laughed. “And I’m not into pricks either!” He clapped Theon companionably on the back. Theon rocked forward from the force of the blow, somewhat surprised by the other man’s strength. “Right now, I just want a cheap, cold mug of ale and some good conversation.”

He seemed genuine. Theon let himself relax. 

“Aren’t your friends over there gonna miss you?” he asked, nodding his chin to the small band of young men he’d seen hanging around the pool table. While Ramsay and Theon had been speaking, they’d drifted from the game room to a nearby empty table to nurse their drinks.

“Honestly?” Ramsay said, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “They get kind of boring after a while. Conversations just aren’t fun when they’re predictable, you know?”

Theon understood.

“I feel the same way,” he agreed, driven by a need he didn’t quite understand; a desire to impress the other man, show him that Theon sailed through life with the same level of nonchalant amusement himself. He drained half the glass in one pull and savored the cold slide of it down his throat, the bitter aftertaste. 

Ramsay looked away, but Theon could tell he was smiling by the curve of his cheek. He might have imagined it though, because when Ramsay looked back, he was straight-faced.

“I get the feeling you’re sick of some people in your life, too,” Ramsay said. He rested his chin in the cradle of his palm, watching expectantly. 

Theon let out a short, humorless chuckle. “What, did the ‘fuck him’ you overheard give it away? Nah, I guess … well, maybe. Sick of people wanting me to be what I’m not, maybe.” Instantly he flushed, realizing how whiny that sounded. “Not that I give a shit—at the end of the day, I just have to do what feels right, you know? And if someone has a problem with it, they can stuff it. You can’t go through life trying to please everybody,” he said, speaking with imperious wisdom.

Ramsay nodded, absently gnawing on a knuckle. “Yeah, I understand that. This have to do with that guy Locke was asking about when I came over?”

“Locke?” Theon echoed.

Ramsay smirked and pointed with one finger. “The bartender?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. My best friend, Robb. We’ve been arguing over stuff lately. He wants to move out of the flat we currently share to move in with his girlfriend.”

“You don’t like her,” Ramsay observed.

Theon shook his head. “No, it’s … they only met about a month ago, and started dating about a week after. It just seems sudden. And a lot of effort to go through with moving everything if it falls through a month into it, you know?” He didn’t mention the ugly blow-outs they’d been having ever since the first fight.

Ramsay shrugged. “Sometimes, you just meet that one, special person and get tunnel vision.”

Theon stared down at the counter while he finished off his second beer. “I guess.”

Ramsay ordered him another beer, despite Theon’s half-hearted protests. He was a good conversationalist; he listened without interrupting, and kept their talk moving easily through a variety of subjects. Theon learned that he liked to hunt (not a surprise — everyone did in the north), trained dogs for a living, and grew up with his mother in Old Mill before moving in with his father and step-mother a few years back.

He also had a knack for telling elaborate, humorous stories. Theon nearly choked on his beer when Ramsay mimed the reaction of his step-mother when they’d crossed paths after he’d returned from a successful hunt.

“So there I am, this heavy dead thing draped on my back, and she’s standing there in the doorway of the garage, mouth open like a fish.” He copied the expression comically for a moment before continuing. “And I go, ‘Evening, mother,’ and right then the deer’s tongue just _flops_ out of its mouth. Didn’t think women could scream that loud, and trust me, I’ve heard plenty,” he joked, winking.

Theon laughed so hard he was almost dizzy by the end of it. “Gods, that’s funny.” He cradled his head in his arms, still giggling. “She sounds like a real piece of … like ...“ Where was he going with this? “... she sounds funny,” he finished lamely.

His face felt sweaty and he rubbed it against his sleeve. Another giggle burst out of him unexpectedly. He couldn’t help it. The beers, the conversation, the cheerful, laid-back atmosphere of the bar … they all combined to form a potent cure for his earlier black mood. He felt radiantly happy, more relaxed than he could remember ever being.

“Thanks,” Ramsay said.

Theon opened his eyes, then shut them. His head was spinning gently. “You’re … um, a really good talker.”

“You’re not,” Ramsay said, which was the funniest thing ever, and set Theon off laughing all over again. Ramsay laughed with him. He had a nice laugh, smooth and disarming.

Theon forced his head up off his arms, feeling a sudden need for fresh air. “I’ll be back, just stepping outside for a minute,” he explained, but even as he spoke, he was distantly aware that some of the words had gotten out and others hadn’t. He frowned, then repeated the sentence, enunciating clearly. 

“You all right? I think those beers are affecting you,” Ramsay observed.

Theon waved him away. He felt loose, relaxed, utterly confident in himself. “Takes more than three to get me tipsy,” he said, or tried to, as he slid off the stool. Except suddenly the ground sloped sharply under his feet, and he found himself pitching backwards.

Then he was sitting on the stool again, held upright by Ramsay’s clenching grip on his upper arm. 

“Careful,” Ramsay said lowly, not releasing him. “You could have bashed your head open.”

Wouldn’t that have been hilarious? “Ow,” Theon said, because Ramsay hadn’t let go yet and his grip kind of hurt. He felt his lips stretch in a smirk, but Ramsay’s blank face was tilting like a falling tree. Then Theon felt the soft fabric of his sleeves against his closed eyes and realized he’d slumped over into his arms again.

_Something’s wrong._

“Sorry …” he mumbled. “I feel a bit—dizzy. Let me just lay dow’ furrabit …” He knew the words weren’t coming out right, and frowned. “Talk s’more later.”

“Ha! Cheers to that!” Ramsay’s voice floated down to him.

“Already?” a voice asked from somewhere behind them. No, to their left. No, their right. “Thought we had to wait for another hour at least.” Theon couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, and then forgot about it in the next second. The space he’d created with his arms was cozy, warmed by his breaths. Was he asleep? 

“Maybe if he hadn’t chugged them back to back. He’s easy,” Ramsay said. “You should have heard him, practically slobbering to tell me his sob story even before the drinks.”

 _Who was easy?_ Theon wanted to ask, but what came out was a slurred groan instead. He was very dizzy now, and the radiant happiness was still coming in waves. He wanted to dance with a girl. He wanted to find a quiet room and take a nap. He wanted to splash water on himself.

Cooler air rolled over his face as his head twisted back on his neck. Something was gripping his chin. Ramsay’s fingers, squishing his cheeks. Like a little kid. He blinked, bleary-eyed. There was an exact twin of Ramsay sitting in the next stool over. Then two more grinning Ramsay’s, and then they slid towards the middle and merged into one blurry image. He blinked again.

 _“Heeey,”_ a voice laughed, low and taunting. Theon didn’t recognize it.

“You out yet, baby?” Another voice, light with mirth. Snickers rolled in Theon’s ears. He tried to focus on Ramsay’s colorless eyes, smiling down at him. 

They were having a little joke, he realized. He smiled, wanting badly to be in on it, feeling small and lost like he was a new foster kid in the Stark home all over again. No, like he was even younger, when his brothers were all alive and picked on him mercilessly, and he would have done anything to earn their respect.

“‘M still alive,” he said, feeling his smile all squished up by Ramsay’s grip. His skin was blazing hot against his face. Theon went to rearrange himself on the stool so that he was less contorted, but his elbow hit something and he heard a _thunk._

“Aw, sweetheart knocked over his drink,” a voice cooed. “Good thing it was empty.”

“Such a clumsy princess.”

The room was spinning faster now, back and forth in one continuous tilting twirl. Like the swaying of a ship. You had to ride the swells of the waves, that was the trick. Theon let himself follow the wave and felt the crown of his head bump into Ramsay’s warm chest. He smelled like cigarette smoke and leather. Theon breathed deeply, missing the taste of a cigarette, and scrubbed at his face. He couldn’t make himself wake up—he barely even felt the touch of his hands on his cheeks. One of Ramsay’s arms came up to brace his shoulder, keeping him supported.

“You better pay for your _wasted_ friend’s drink before you slink off,” the bartender said. “I don’t care if your dad owns the place—everyone pays. Extra for stunts like these.”

“Mac,” Theon murmured. No, that wasn’t it. “Mock …” What had Ramsay called him?

“Of course. I’ll pay double for your help,” Ramsay said. 

Theon focused on breathing. He was oddly aware of the sound of his breaths and his blood rushing in his ears: a long, continuous _whoosh_.

Ramsay shifted against him. Two arms slid underneath Theon’s and lifted him up off the stool like he weighed nothing. Theon was almost completely weak-kneed and listed heavily to one side.

“Up you go, there’s a doll,” Ramsay said cheerfully. He scratched Theon’s head, messing up the locks Theon had spent a half-hour styling before going out. “Come on, easy does it…”

Ramsay moved a step away, and Theon staggered after him. 

“My phone,” he tried to say. He flopped in Ramsay’s hands, weight tilting back towards the bar.

“I got it,” another voice said. The one that had called him ‘baby’. 

“Give it here,” Ramsay said, and briefly removed one of his arms to accept Theon’s phone. “Alyn, get the door.”

Then everything sort of blurred together into one long, indistinguishable rush of sound, color, smells. Theon couldn’t feel his body and had no spatial sense of his limbs. He didn’t recall closing his eyes, but suddenly he was prying them open again. Bright red lights beamed in his vision. His throat was dry; he swallowed, and the red lights shone green. The rumbling purr of an engine. He didn’t remember getting into a car. Had he called a taxi?

The hand down his pants shifted, drawing slow circles along the front of his underwear, tracing the line of his cock. Theon barely felt it.

“I want him first,” said the person in the passenger’s seat.

“You went first last time!”

Fingers were still tracing lightly up and down his clothed cock. Theon raised a hand to push the arm out of his pants, but found it lowered back down to the seat as easily as swatting a gnat. When he tried to close his legs, a hand pried them open again.

“Shh,” a voice murmured in his ear. _Ramsay,_ but he didn’t sound warm anymore. Intense. Like he was focusing on something important. “Settle.”

 _What are you doing?_ Theon asked, but halfway through he meant to ask where they were going instead, and so what came out in a slurred mumble was, “What are you going?”

“Aw, princess is awake again,” a voice laughed. Leather squeaked; a hand pinched his cheek cruelly and waggled the captured fold of skin. It should have hurt, but Theon felt it only distantly. “My god, look at his widdle face. It’s like he walks around asking people to punch him. This was a good pick, Rams.”

“I always pick good ones,” Ramsay said coolly. “Don’t touch him.”

Theon was still staring at his lap, watching the hand massage inside his pants, but his line of vision was broken when his skull was tugged back by his hair. The curve of his neck rested against someone’s shoulder and fingers fanned out over his throat. They gripped him tight, but that was okay, because Theon was already so lightheaded, he half-feared he might fall through the bottom of the car and splatter on the pavement. 

Voices tuned in and out like the radio Theon and Robb had once spent a rainy weekend fixing.

“... him first …”

“Ask me …”

“... serious, Rams …?”

“... If you want …”

“... first, please?”

“... Damon … him …”

His shoes stumbled over pavement that had suddenly risen up to meet him. His eyes would not fully open, and he felt boneless. _Just a big, walking, boneless noodle._ He laughed and thought he heard an answering chuckle. Night air kissed his face. Whether or not his eyes were closed, he saw stars glimmering in his vision.

Someone hoisted him up a step. Behind him, in the void, a car beeped as someone locked it. There was the impression of warm bodies all around him, like he stood in a clearing closed in by tall trees. He was leaned up against one of those trunks...no, a wall, it felt like, and wavered there for a moment, until hinges screeched and voices raised in an excited murmur around him.

He strained to open his eyes.

He was being ushered into a small room with bare, cracked walls and a concrete floor. A single naked mattress, twin-sized, was placed in the center of the room. A small brown table with squat chairs waited a few feet away.

Theon stared at the mattress. A sudden pang rose up inside him. He tried to sink to the floor, but a pair of hands wouldn’t let him.

The world went quiet again.

He opened his eyes.

Someone was panting in his neck. His skin was wet where they’d been licking it. His shoulders were cold. Where was his jacket? Hanging in creased folds around his elbows.

Sweaty hair shifted against his temple, someone’s face nuzzling his. Too large of a nose to belong to a girl.

“Yeah, fuck that bitch,” he heard.

 _Oh,_ he thought, realizing now what the odd push-and-pull was inside him. He squirmed loosely, sliding sideways against the wall. The outer skin on his legs was cold, too, but his inner thighs were warm, spread wide as they were around a moving body. Cool concrete brushed the toes on his right foot as he swayed back and forth in time with the movements.

A dull horror was surging somewhere inside him like the tide, but he kept losing track of it.

“Ah,” the voice panted in his ear. Hips slapped against his with dull thwacks, accented by quiet wet sounds. The sounds a girl’s pussy made when you finally fucked her after eating her out for a good long while. So wet it created a seal that broke every time you pulled out and pushed in. “Ah, _shit,_ he’s so fucking hot.”

“Is he tight, Damon?”

The man panted in his ear, struggling to speak. “Yeah … _fuck …_ ” He jammed his hips up tight against Theon’s, straining against him in one long, quivering moment while he moaned, filthy and wrecked. A muted warmth bloomed inside of Theon.

His eyes tracked lazily across the ceiling where he was floating, looking down at himself. Vertigo flipped him like an hour-glass, and he saw three others standing around him. They were monstrously tall and their features swam like mist. Theon felt achingly small, like maybe if he was quiet and still, these giants would pass him by.

One leaned down and closed its meaty fingers around his ankle where it bobbed in the air. The giant laughed and waggled the limp limb. 

“Look at him, he’s like a fucking _doll.”_

“His eyes are open, though. Kinda.”

The man inside him turned his head and brushed his lips over Theon’s cheek. “Hey baby, you in there? Did you like that? I got you all wet and loose for everyone else. Alyn, you up?”

Theon’s lips twisted and he made a small noise. The giants laughed. So did the man inside him, but his laughter hurt worse, because Theon actually felt the vibrations down there.

Hands touched him, moved him, rearranged him. He drifted, a balloon on a tether. He kept trying to gather the words to speak, to ask someone what was going on, but stringing thoughts together was like trying to fill a broken bucket with water.

His face pressed into something warm. It smelled stale, like sweat and blood, but it was soft. He nuzzled it. At his sides, his hands opened and closed drowsily. He could feel his shirt had ridden up, but he couldn’t move.

Thighs shuffled underneath his, holding his legs apart again. Cool air insinuated itself where he was wet and faintly aching. 

“Gods, I’ve been so worked up since the bar,” a different voice said, one that belonged to the thighs now holding his apart. Theon was conscious of a moment of pressure, and then the man was sliding into him easily, a long, thick line of heat that seemed to split him in two. Theon hunched forward, but the man didn’t even seem to notice. “Oh, shit, that’s it. _Fuck,_ Damon, he’s so wet, how much did you come?”

“I’ve been saving it!” the voice from before protested. Jeering laughter. Theon had forgotten he’d been moved, but he was aware of fingertips digging into the skin of his hips. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fuck,” the man above him chanted as he snapped his hips. Theon was thinking about the tides again, in and out, inescapable and merciless. He blinked and didn’t open his eyes again until the mattress in front of him dipped. Metal rustled, leather slithered. Hands eased him upwards. His mouth was already a little open, but a wide thumb shoved inside and hooked his jaw open further. Drool dripped out of the corner of his mouth. Theon tried to focus his eyes, but they refused.

“Open up,” he heard. Obediently, he stretched his jaw a little wider. He didn’t think to disobey; it simply didn’t occur to him as something that was possible. The thumb inside his mouth stroked his tongue, and Theon curled it around the digit, sluggishly curious at what was nearly making him gag.

“Stop,” Ramsay said. Theon inhaled cigarette smoke. A very quiet keen dribbled from his lips. “Don’t fuck his mouth.”

“What? Why?” 

“He’ll choke.”

An incredulous pause. “... So? Then let the bitch choke? How many girls have we done the same thing to? Why is he an excep—”

“Alright then,” Ramsay said, unbothered. Theon was intimately familiar with that tone of voice; it was the kind that went, _Maybe if you’d stop fucking up, Maron wouldn’t have to hit you,_ and then pain in his face when he was backhanded. “Try sticking your cock in his mouth. Let’s see what happens next.”

A long moment of quiet. Even the hips of the man inside him had stuttered to a halt.

Then, explosively, “Fuck!” and the mattress groaned under shifting weight. The thumb in his mouth retreated and he fell heavily to the mattress, face-first. 

“Take it easy, Skinne—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Heavy footsteps stomped away, and now Theon was drifting again, except he hadn’t gone all the way this time, and his eyes were sort of focused. Ramsay’s shoes were in front of him. He followed the shoes to the legs, and then up those to Ramsay’s lap, where he was holding a phone. Clouds of smoke drifted around his head.

Theon made a noise, then. Something mournful. He had the sense something precious was being taken from him, but couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

Ramsay tapped his knee. “Damon, slide the mattress up. Bring him here.”

A moment later, Ramsay loomed much closer. He stuck the cigarette between his lips to free up the hand not holding the phone. Then he raised up Theon’s chin and peered critically into his eyes. Colorless grey filled up Theon’s vision. He was floundering, drowning in it. Even when he turned his head, he could see little else.

“Settle,” Ramsay said, leaning Theon’s cheek against his inner thigh. It was warm there. Theon went still. He hadn’t realized he was weakly moving until he stopped. “That’s it. Sweet bitch, aren’t you? So bratty at the bar. You just needed a cock inside you, is that right, pet?”

Ramsay grabbed his chin and made him nod jerkily, like a puppet. The boys laughed. Alyn was fucking him still, and each push of his hips swayed Theon’s head in Ramsay’s grip.

“Shit—he really is tight—” Alyn murmured. “Looser now, though, I think.”

 _I’m ruined,_ Theon thought. _They ruined me._ The particulars of _who_ and _how_ slipped away from him.

He closed his eyes. It hurt less that way.

“Hold him still!”

“I’m trying! _You_ try holding him up, he’s like a hundred seventy pounds!”

“Well, hold him stiller!”

“That’s not a word, Skinner.”

“Did I fucking ask? By the gods…”

A powerful, fast thrust punched a small squeak out of Theon’s chest.

“Shit, did you hear that? Do that again, Skinner.”

“The fuck, he didn’t make noise for _me.”_

“Oh, shut up.”

Another strong, jolting thrust. It smacked through his whole body. Theon squeaked again, and the lips wandering up his neck smiled. 

“Fuck me, that’s almost cute.”

“Aww, _baby.”_

His shirt rode up. Damp fingers pinched his nipples, working them over, while underneath him, the man gripping his thighs kept up a sharp, smacking series of thrusts. Teeth closed on his ear. It was too many sensations to process all at once, even through the thick haze that deadened his mind, so they filtered in one by one instead.

Fingers pawed at his groin. “Do you think we could get him hard, Rams?” They wrapped around the length of him, tugging, and Theon fell away again.

His eyes slitted open. 

He’d been moved. Ramsay was poised above him, arranging Theon’s bare legs around his waist. He had to hold them there because Theon had no strength in them. Smoke drifted around them like ropes of garland. Theon felt loose and wet. Like everything down there had relaxed, melted. Like Ramsay was moving through him easily, so easily like water. The end of his cigarette glowed like a red eye. He leaned forward so that the press of his chest would keep Theon’s legs up and spread around his middle. Unbalanced, Theon’s head tilted to the side. Three figures were walking away from him.

The hips pounding against his held there, stuttered. More liquid warmth filled him. 

Something seared into his neck, but he couldn’t react. His body had finally shut down like a computer powering off. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled his nose. He heard the quiet click of a camera shutter. A tear streaked down his cheek, but his disjointed thoughts couldn’t explain why.

He closed his eyes and the world dissolved again.


End file.
